Obscure
by MietovyCzekolada
Summary: Just something I whipped up one day. A small insight into the last thoughts of Count Dracula in his mortal life. He was indeed a strange man who believed that through horrible acts of war and terror he could cause God to appear and show his wrath. Even though it would have been passed upon himself. Definitely an interesting guy.


Standing on the premise of something obscure, an ambiguous thing he had become. Most would call him evil incarnate, if evil so ever held the form of a man. He pondered deeply upon the beginning of this abyss growing inside. When did he forgo the part of the soul which cringes away from the gruesome and vile. Such things that should only exist in the exiles of hell, he had brought them forth onto the planes of man! Why had god not shown himself? Where was his divine wrath? The lack there of had left a deep aching hole which seemed to grow and consume without refrain. He had so needed this to happen, he had so desired it. This lost child, crying out for reprimand from a non existant father. A small abandoned thing which had grew and grew into an incurable reckless hate. A violent tempest had been gnashing at the shores of this mans humanity for too long now. Threatening to consume and wash away the moral architecture residing there in. Staring aghast at the battle scarred wasteland where he had made his last stand, he began to laugh. Not out of joy, no it was a deep maniacal sound, a devilish cackle echoing out across the plains. What folly had he been seeking this whole time? It had grown clear with the morning dawn that he had been played for a fool. 'There is no god, no watcher of men passing judgement on their deeds.' The enemy soldiers at his side gave weary looks to one another, as his laughter continued. The shackles grew heavier as they began to sear through his skin and bones into his soul.

This was the end, it was waiting right over the hill along with the executioner's axe. A bloodthirsty gleaming metal it seemed to be made of, reflecting all light from it's surface, summoning him like a moth to the flame. His feet ached and drudged through the cold mud, and the thought of a all consuming fire might be just what he needed to cleanse his soul. There was nothing now, nothing but the erected platform set against the backdrop of the horizon, he had sacrificed it all. Knees hit the ground, hands were swallowed by the mud. The escorts yelled to get up but he simply looked to the side of the road. Admiring the drops of dew settling atop the corpses of his soldiers and enemies alike. Up and onwards his march continued, barely tripping up the steps to the great finale of his life. Atop the erected wood platform the view over the expanse became all the more sobering to him. The countless bodies that lay strewn over the once green land, his soldiers, the enemies, horses, peasants, nobles, all mixed together. None were above death. That cold hand would soon enough reach around the necks of all beings. 'How had this happened? Is today really my turn?' The imminent beating of his heart warned that him that resolve was failing. As if a creature of many legs crawled up his spine, so the fear crept slowly to his mind. 'NO! NO! How am I, son of Dragons, Lord over this country, Conqueror of men, to be found cowering in the last seconds of my life?!' He knew he was not ready to die. There was still much to be done, things only capable to be fulfilled by his hands. How would these shackled hands do anything?

Shoved forward by the guards, he had been frozen in thought, not noticing the address directed at himself. "So you have nothing to say devil? So be it. Only treachery and darkness could come from such a foul creature of hell. Ye, who has brought ruin upon your country for selfish reasons. To think you could challenge our great empire was folly from the beginning, through and through." With that he sent him forwards towards the executioner and his block. Desperation had taken over, his eyes darted, searching but not wanting to see the truth, that there was no escape. No alternative to this path. Their rough hands pushed him to his knees, pressing his head down hard against the cold block. It reeked of blood and foreboding. 'How had this happened?' A tear escaped his eye, and a small sob passed his lips, inaudible to all but himself. Inside it echoed loudly, the weakness taking over his heart was crippling. All the things he had been, a mighty warrior, a scholarly alchemist, a ruthless ruler. These parts of himself fell hapless against the situation. Though a small spark awoke from a deep dark part of his soul. Speaking to the abyss he began his final ambition, 'I know there is no God. I know this now. Though surely in all the cruelty and jest the universe surely possessed, there is a Devil. They may think it be myself but no. I see now the workings of the deep world. I will not die this day. They think they have stripped me of all I own, my gold and silver, my land and title. But no, they have not taken everything. I have the greatest currency of all in my possession.' The deep hours invested in alchemical studies had taught him this if nothing else. 'For the alchemist, life and death are reversed, the divine spirit is freed into life through earthly death, and we that live upon the earth are the dead, trapped in prisons of matter, of flesh. To you, the abyss that lives inside us men, I give you my very blood and soul. The ultimate payment, deserving the ultimate purchase. I shall not die today. No, nor tomorrow, nor a hundred, even a thousand years from now. I shall make them regret what they have done, and they will know they wrought all the hell I unleash upon them.' A wicked smile now growing, he opened his mouth, stretching his tongue out past his lips. The pool of blood matting his hair and sticking to his face was so close. The closing of the deal was at the tip of his tongue, so to speak. 'Alas! Finally!' A single taste of delicious copper and forbidden things swept across his palette.

Swiftly down the executioners' axe fell. Severing the once mighty Counts head in once swing. The men aghast and fearful remarked to the strange and twisted smile that rested upon the Counts face. What were his final thoughts that had caused so wicked a thing. Though clearly dead by all reason, inside his eyes shown a fire which blazed and hardened inexplicably.


End file.
